


ghosts never truly leave

by tampa_bae_frightening (steven_damnkos)



Series: beautiful filth [5]
Category: Fearless Vampire Killers
Genre: Other, So Little Time, So many tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 05:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3238475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steven_damnkos/pseuds/tampa_bae_frightening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don't even really know. Drugs were involved. And FVK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ghosts never truly leave

**Author's Note:**

> Wow okay back at it again. I gave up on these for a while and carved out a niche for myself writing Motionless In White hockey fics. 
> 
> But! I have returned.  
> With whatever the hell this is.  
> It's kind of a sequel to the prince & the queer, but from an older, very fucked up Lorens' point of view.

I've thrown myself down this fucked up rabbit hole again, wondering why i seem to enjoy these peeks into hell.  
Tomorrow will be despair and sickness, but today is a chance to burn.  
Burn the sky, burn the city, burn my enemies.  
Trapped under a shroud of misery, i steel myself against the chill.  
Nothing warms me but the snow in my veins and the fire in my lungs.   
Sadness surrounds me.  
I don't know if it belongs to me or the ghosts, but it's thick enough to choke.  
It hangs heavy in the air, like the ashes of burning flesh.  
The darkness feels like home; it swaddles my sick thoughts and comforts my exhausted soul.  
A lone, distant candle serves as my beacon to reality, and i watch as it burns away.  
The smoke curls out from the remnants, punctuating the finality of my stay.  
Did i create this hell or find it by accident? Either way, it's mine.   
The chill now comes from within as the snow freezes my veins solid.  
I feel the scraps of my humanity bleed away, leaving only the monster disguised as a man.  
How vile i must look! Surely my nails are talons and my teeth are razors!  
There is a lust; for flesh, for blood, for death.  
It overwhelms me and i feel truly alive.  
This possession will always be my lifeblood, bringing me the joy my human mind cannot comprehend.  
The fog descends and everything softens but my own reflection.  
I will always be the monster in the closet, the killer in your nightmare, the voice in your head.  
I have many faces, but i am your monstrous terror.  
In the blackest night, i will stand out.  
The flames of my hatred turn my heart into a burning star.  
In the grand scheme, fear will always be the strongest emotion, but fear can be a powerful tool.  
I do not fear death itself any longer, though i do fear an unsatisfying death.   
I exhale slow trails of bluish gray, finding that all my fears have all burned away into bitter ash.  
Fear is a weakness, yes, but the simple exploitation of it can raze entire kingdoms.  
To be fearless as i, you must accept that nothing matters any longer.   
This world is a foul pit and as long as one person holds fear in their heart, nothing can ever change that.   
Not even war.  
Someday, we will all rise to fight a force we can't see or understand.  
But for now, we cower in fear and merely whisper of revolution.   
The wind carries rumors of an end to this hell.  
It will never truly end.  
Hell is a hydra. Cut off one head, and two more appear. You may take down one ruler, but more will come.  
My heart beat fades; the ice has taken it hostage.  
I didn't need it anyway...  
Cold. Heartless. Fearless. Monstrous.  
Perhaps... i am meant to rule this disgusting realm?  
A crown of bones and thorns on my head and a throne of corpses to recline upon sounds delightful.   
The patron saint of filth, ascending to a throne of gore. How fitting.  
Perhaps... even i am a god in this pantheon of death?  
The newest god-king of a dying dynasty.  
Do you feel my power? It builds as you stare.  
I climb upon the Goremount and scream until my voice is a filthy blade buried in your viscera.  
I am the true king of your filthy city-state.  
I will burn this festering wound of a kingdom to the ground and bring every citizen to their knees.   
I will be the redemption, bringing it back to the ideal paradise of my cursed ancestors.   
I am the nefarious prince. I am the parasite. I am your only salvation.  
Though i speak of saints, salvation and redemption, i am no holy man.  
Never mistake me for one, as it will bring swift destruction upon you.  
You can be saved by darkness. The left-hand path is your salvation, Satan is your redeemer.  
The religious filth funneled down your throats from birth is corrupting you.  
It is the true evil, as it was wrought to fill you with lies.  
Lord Lucifer's light will guide you to the truth.  
There is no god. There is no goodness. Everything you have been taught is nothing but an immaculate misconception peddled by monsters more foul than even i could dream to be.  
Despite the origins of my throne, the idea if one paradise for all is a lie, and the worst one.  
One paradise for all insinuates that conformity is the only route to happiness.  
Carnal creatures tht we are, we must each create our own paradise, and fill it with our distractions and vices.   
A river of absinthe, a castle built of pills, endless beds filled with warm, willing flesh.  
We must forget ourselves in our sins, and drown in the depravity.   
Only in the bliss of indulgence can one find their happiness.  
I look down from my perch, the freshest corpses being piled at my feet.  
The reek of decaying flesh no longer registers in my nostrils.  
The death in this city is truly delightful.  
My icy heart and black soul sing with every fallen body and every sin committed under my watchful eye.  
Climbing down my unholy throne mount, i see every matter of death. Murder, suicide, disease, starvation, overindulgence.   
Death lurks around every corner apart from the ones i turn.  
I smile as the rotten flesh falls from the skeletons.  
My palace has a moat of pus and liquefied flesh.  
Bloodthirsty as i am, the already dead cannot hold my attention for long.  
I long for my own victim.  
The firm give of soft, pale flesh beneath my teeth as i bite down. The sweet waves of crimson filling my mouth.  
The taste of the heady mix of fear, lust, and desperation in your veins.  
These thoughts fuel me as i descend into the melee of my kingdom.  
A black, hooded cloak disguises me as one of you nameless rabble.  
As the nihilistic demon king, i could order the prettiest young things to be found and brought to my throne for defilement, but there is no joy in that.  
Stalking the streets, i can hear the sweet wine rushing through the veins of my unsuspecting populace.  
I don't know who i will take.  
A sweet young starlet, honored to please her king?  
A strapping young lad, hiding his dark desires for fear of rejection?  
Perhaps... another creature such as myself?   
Not bloodthirsty, but nonconformist, and hedonistic.  
Someone who understands the merit of filth.  
I am miserable, and misery loves company.   
Perhaps there is to be another ruler at my side?  
Twin rulers, equal in power.  
Two gods upon the bloody throne.  
Is there truly another in this human mire as horrific as myself?  
Where are you my twin?  
I feel someone trapped on the opposite side of the shroud, begging to join my in my ruby reign.  
I know not how to bring you over.  
I know you face discrimination for your dark thoughts.  
I will find the door to your realm, and i will liberate you.  
Until i can return to the stark hell of the outside, i must reign alone.   
The smell of flowing blood tantalizes my nostrils, and i quickly find the source.   
Some poor bastard has stumbled out from the back door of an absinthe room and slipped on the ice. Their forehead displays a large, deep gash.  
The crimson fountain beckons.  
I silently edge closer, the blood lust a tempest.  
They smell naturally sweet, with the added sugar of the damned green flooding their system.  
An overwhelming spice cocktail races amongst the heady sweetness.  
Absinthe is truly my only friend.   
The green dragon is everyone's master, causing blackouts and memory loss once you've consumed enough.  
I approach my fallen target, finding a sweet young man, cheeks plump and rosy, body soft and strangely familiar.  
Perhaps we have met before, before i knew who i truly was.  
I kneel and brush the soft honey chocolate waves from his face, cleaning the stray strands from his wound.  
He does not stir, unconscious. Perfect.  
I lean in and lap at the flowing blood.   
I find that i have supped this wine before, but there wasn't so much absinthe, or so much hatred.  
Their heart must glow as brightly as mine; hatred and anger fueling their drunken despair.  
This sweet child once promised me love and eternity, only to disappear as mysteriously as he appeared.  
Those days and nights spent drunkenly languishing in the Marina are mostly a haze these days, but I'll never forget this fallen angel. His name still spills from my lips whenever i release, and his affections and sweet tears keep me from sinking into total despair.  
Perhaps after he disappeared from my room, he was returned to his own world, mind filled with a charming prince and a terrifying kingdom.  
I can't imagine the despair he must have felt, being torn between realms.  
Perhaps he is permanently stuck here, and all he knows is the damned green i plied him with.   
He must spend his time in these dingy but opulent houses of sin, drowning his sorrows in green as he searches for me.  
My darling angel, i will take you home.  
We once said forever, and i will be damned if i don't keep my promise.  
You are my twin. You will rule by my side.  
I remember the dark desires i found lurking in the depths of your blood.   
We have seen the filth within each other, and you still willingly sacrificed every part of yourself.  
I gave you a damned addiction, i took your innocence, i took your blood.  
Yet you still long for me.  
My angel is the true treasure of Grandomina.  
I gather him up in my arms, lightly dabbing my handkerchief against his wound.  
As the bleeding quickly slows, i lift my darling up and whisk him back to the Palace of Horrors.  
It was constructed on the ashes of the mutated monstrosity of the Vane castle. I still remember the heat of the flames; the second act of my subconscious coup.  
Plunging my knife into Hux will always be a fond memory.   
I saved another treasure that night, only to find that it had been fool's gold.   
I enter my sleeping chambers and tuck the poor child into my bed.  
I build the fire high; he's freezing.  
He has on the ridiculous shoes that i inexplicably enjoyed seeing on him, though the lovely little dress is absent. I remove the shoes and set them on my bedside table.  
The maid is roused from her bed to fetch the finest healer to attend to my sweet's injury.  
I fix myself an elderflower cordial, unable to down the green in such a worrying moment.  
The chair beside the bed allows me the best connection to the unconscious boy without being too close.  
I fear he may awake and fear me, as i am no longer the charming Princey he fell in love with.  
I watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, never looking away as the maid returns with the healer.  
They make quick work of the wound, new skin bonding and blending so there won't even be a scar.  
He begins to stir and i banish the others from the room  
His voice still so sweet and innocent, he tiredly asks where he is.  
My chair lies in shadow, so i move to sit on the edge of the bed.  
His liquid, warm honey eyes widen with a gasp in recognition.  
There is heartbreak in his voice as he speaks my former name.   
Princey...  
I nod forlornly as i smile at him.  
I tell him how happy i am to have found him.  
He sits up slowly, dizzy from the head injury and blood loss, coupled with the gallon of absinthe that surely must reside in his gut.   
I reach out to steady him, feeding him a few sips of elderflower, the antidote to the curse of the Vane blood.  
He smiles gratefully and tells of how much he missed me. He had been sucked back through whatever gateway brought him to Grandomina, and woke up in his own realm with the taste of absinthe and kisses on his lips, convinced it had all been a dream until he looked in the mirror and found the wounds upon his neck, and felt the sticky soreness betwixt his thighs.  
The inability to return to my side plunged him into despair of the darkest levels.  
Everyone in his world thought he had gone mad and locked him away.  
He lay rotting in the hospital for months, until he managed to sneak out of his room.  
He explains that he leapt from the rooftop, attempting to end his miserable life, only to find that gateway had opened up beneath him and he crashed to the dirty Grandomonian ice.   
The crash knocked him unconscious.  
He tells me it's so delightful to have returned, and he couldn't think of a better hero than his darling Prince.  
I pull him into my lap and begin showering with years of unkissed kisses.  
He said months went by for him, but it has been years since I've seen him.  
Years of longing for a creature you feared you may never see again.  
He lets out these delighted little squeals and his lovely cheeks do not fail to flush, just as i remember.  
I tell him that my life has changed dramatically. No longer am i the drunken play Prince. I am Lorens Vane, rightful king of Grandomina.  
His eyes sparkle as i say my name and title.   
He mouths it silently, soft, red lips looking lascivious as they caress the syllables.  
A playful smile lights his face and the ice strangling my black heart melts a bit.  
He says I'll always be Princey to him, the charming young man who showed him the highest of kindnesses while in a strange place.  
He doesn't know i have become Lorens the Dark, Grandomina's only Satanic king, but something tells me he will enjoy it.  
I remember the sweet flashes of desire for torture and bloodletting sprinkled throughout his blood like a fine seasoning.  
He will rule happily by my side, delighting when i allow him to perform his first blood eagle on one the remaining Syliban sympathizers locked in the dungeon.  
He asks if we are in my palace, and i nod in agreement.  
I tell that it is the Palace of Horrors.  
He frowns, tilting his head in confusion. Horrors... Like a haunted house?   
His question trails off and i feel shame rise in my cheeks. Just because i saw those pictures in his sweet blood, doesn't mean he would ever give into his dark desires.  
I tell him horrors, as in all the torture that goes on. Corpses litter the ground and my crown is made of bone. I sit upon a throne of rotting bodies whenever the fancy strikes. While he was absent for mere months, years have passed and i have become the bloodiest Vane in the history of the dynasty surpassing even Demonvein himself.  
Watching his eyes carefully, i search for the slightest hint of disgust or terror, and find only sheer excitement.  
He's truly delighted by every facet of myself.   
Never have i felt so connected to anyone, not even to my ancestors through the cerebral conjoint.  
Perhaps, my sweet angel should have been born in Grandomina? Maybe he is somehow linked to the Vanes...  
Perhaps someone got that damned Looking Glass to work, and escaped through.  
Fukka knows Michelaos never had any success with the thing.   
He lays back in the bed, stretching salaciously, smirk firmly across lips. If i am the King, what is he?   
His question strikes me as odd.  
I crawl atop him, noting the quiet hum emanating from his throat as my weight presses him into the bed. Just like our first time in that dusty, drafty room in the Marina... Such a filthy angel i have.  
Between sweet little kisses, i tell him that he will be king as well, and he shall rule by my side.   
This only delights him more. How lucky i was to find him. My dark hunger saved a life instead of taking another.  
I climb from atop him, peeling the heavy blankets back, revealing his indulgent body.   
His clothes are filthy and kind of torn.  
He needs a bath and the maid needs to replace the sheets.  
I lift him from the bed, earning another squeal.  
I carry him to the bathroom, placing him on the side of the spacious marble tub.  
I hear the maid start stripping the bed, and i take that as my cue to strip him.   
His black oxford looks to be of a similar age as my beloved blue coat. He's most likely fond of it, as he was the coat. Perhaps it can be repaired. If not, I'm sure something similar can be scrounged up from my own wardrobe.   
He stands and i kneel to remove his shredded black trousers. They're unsalvagable.   
I go to toss them in the fire when he stops me. He says they're supposed to be ripped up so much.  
I find it a little strange that he chooses to wear rags, but i live to serve my angel king.   
I let out a small laugh as i lay aside his trousers. Angel king. The name given to the most illustrious of all my storied ancestors, Ruple Vane. Ruple the Angel as everyone so happily called him.   
Here i stand, a demon, caring for an angel.  
What a strange juxtaposition.  
I tell him my errant little thoughts, and he smiles. He says that the blood of angels runs through my veins, therefore i am not a demon. He calls me 'black angel' and it suits me.  
He stands to remove my clothes.   
He does this slowly, reverently, starting with my cloak, leaving them in a pile, just as before.   
As my skin is revealed, he rains little kisses all my torso.  
He kneels at my feet, a picture of perfect submission. He looks up to me for permission, and i nod in acquiescence.  
He opens my trousers with that same reverence, pulling them down slowly.   
I step out of them, and he greets my cock like an old friend.  
I nearly lose my balance and have to pull him away. Uncoordinated, clumsy Princey has gone nowhere.  
Taking a seat on the side of the tub, i begin filling it with warm water and lavender oil.   
He watches me, still on his knees, a slight pout on his red lips. He says he missed my taste.  
Truly, he is a treasure.   
I spread my legs slightly, gesturing for him to resume in his task.  
As he eagerly swallows me down, i feel as i did when i met him. Alive. Vibrant. Possibly even happy, if he doesn't vanish once more.  
The tub fills quickly, and i regretfully pull him away from me, but promises of later soothe the pout.  
I climb into the water first, settling against the wall. He follows right after, settling between my thighs, the small of his back pressing against my cock.  
He leans back to place his head on my shoulder, and in the low light, i notice three distinct scars on his neck. The Diimonblade's incision where i tested his sweet crimson, and the punctures from my fangs. Strange they would scar so vividly.  
I trace them lightly with my index finger, and it draws a soft moan from him.  
He tells that they are extremely sensitive, and he likes to press his fingers against them when he pleases himself.  
I hear the blood burning in his cheeks.  
I lean down to kiss the scars i put in the already marked body. I suck at the flesh, teeth scraping over for extra effect.  
His back arches up in the most exhilarating way, a beautiful moan escaping him.  
I watch one of his hands slip between his legs, his eyes squeezing shut at the sweet pleasure of touching himself.  
Never have i seen a more beautiful sight. Putting Syliban's head on a pike doesn't even compare anymore.  
I continue my sweet assault on his neck as he circles his clit, squirming so luciously against my cock.   
My hand joins his, two fingers slipping within.  
He moans my name, my real name, and it's music like I've never heard.  
I could become addicted to the way Lorens trails so sweetly from his lips.  
As we tease each other in tandem, i find that i have never been at peace like this.  
I withdraw my fingers and have him climb atop me. He surrounds my cock so wonderfully, his hands gripping my shoulders as a low.whine steadily pours from his lips.  
It's as if our bodies were tailored for each other, filling and surrounding; a perfect match.  
I place my hands on his hips, lifting him up slightly.  
Gravity pulls him down, and it drives me ever deeper within him.  
The desperate noises this barely there rhythm are drawing from him seem to emanate from his very soul.  
He is a symphony of pleasure, and i am his patron.   
The sweetly scented water laps at our flesh as i help him build momentum.  
I grip his hips like my life depends on it, feet unable to get any purchase on the slippery tub floor, leaving me unable to thrust up into the exquisite body on top of me.   
All i can do is hold him steady as he rises and falls on his knees.   
The time apart has truly made us desperate for each other.  
We fly towards climax, his body tensing incredibly tight as he leaps over the edge of orgasm.   
I follow close behind, emptying myself within him.  
His head dropped to my shoulder, chest heaving from exertion.  
I tilt his face up to mine, kissing him with the underlying reverence that lingers in all of our touches.  
We lay there, chest to chest, his face in my neck, in the slowly cooling water.   
I gently brush my fingers through his soft waves, feeling his smile against my skin.  
Before long, the water is cold and we have to get out.   
I help him out as best i can from the ground, before rising myself. I drain the water and reach for a fluffy towel to wrap around his body.  
I tuck it tightly around his soft curves, a content smile on my face.  
My own towel is loosely wrapped around my waist, his comfort being the ultimate goal.   
We return to the bedroom, fire blazing warmly and the bed turned down with fresh sheets.   
I unwind the towel from around his body and gently dry him with it. I hand him a black oxford from my wardrobe, very similar to the one he had arrived in.  
He smiles gratefully as he slips his arms into the long sleeves and begins to fasten each button slowly, starting with the top one and working his way down; like a striptease in reverse.   
Putting on a pair of pajama trousers, i playfully flop across the bed. I ask him if he's ready to see the dark delights of his new palace.  
His eyes light up like the fireworks on the Festival of Love.  
The depths of depravity within him must be immeasurable.   
I pull him closer and kiss him softly, basking in the sweet, soft warmth of his body against mine. He makes a small sound, not unlike a cat's purr.  
What would my enemies think if they could see me now? Would they find me weak? Foolish? Fukka to them.   
The thought of this lovely creature raised my spirits whenever i was down.   
I am inexplicably grateful to have found him.  
His head tilts up, a sad look in his eyes as he asked me if i thought he would disappear again.  
There's a childish innocence to his voice, Lorens sounding sweeter than SucreKet.   
I tell him the truth; i simply do not know. I tell him that i hope he stays, but perhaps it is entirely out of our control.   
The grandfather clock in the corner chimes obnoxiously, and i shoot it a scowl.   
It informed me that it was a very late hour, and that i should go to bed.  
With a sigh, i turn off the lights and tuck him into bed, curling up around him.   
We drift off together, a strange but strong bond.

I wake up alone, and immediately feel myself plummeting into despair.  
A couple of voices echo down the hall, and he enters with the maid in tow.  
He says that he was just walking around because he was restless and couldn't sleep when the maid accosted him and told him he wasn't allowed to wander the castle.  
I roll my eyes and wave off the maid, telling her that she doesn't make the rules. He has free reign of every level.  
The maid narrows her eyes at me before stomping off to make breakfast.  
I make a mental note to have her put in the dungeons for a month, as he stretches across the bed and lays his head in my lap.  
Brushing my fingers through his hair, an action that seemed to soothe us both, i internally plotted out the quickest tour route through the castle. The library and kitchen seemed the only really pertinent places apart from the dungeon.   
Perhaps i shall show him the throne room, coronate him even.   
He lay quietly in my lap, smiling softly up at me.  
He says that he can't even explain how happy he is that he didn't wake up in the hospital, or even a morgue. He has a theory that the gateway opened for him because he was trying to end his life. He believes this may be his personal punishment or reward. Either way, he's happy where he is.  
Leaning down, i kissed him happily as he giggled.  
With a devious grin, i sink my fangs into his neck, drawing a whine from him.  
I pull away quickly to explain that i never fed last night and i happen to be ravenous.  
My eyes must be glowing like torches.  
He tilts his head and bares his neck to my waiting fangs.  
I drink deeply, leaving him pleasantly dazed and cuddly.  
We tried this happily ever after shite once, and we were torn apart.  
I became the bloodiest Vane to ever rule over Grandomina, and he became a mental patient.  
Perhaps it wasn't the right time before, or we just didn't appreciate what we were being given.  
Whatever the reason, i will fight nature itself to keep him beside me.  
He may not deserve to be in Grandomina, but he is a lovely addition.   
I'm sure he'll change this horrible world, one smile at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> Dude, if you read this, Lucifer bless you for hanging on until the end.  
> I know that was a lot of crap you just sat through, and i am sorry you had to suffer through it.  
> Leave me some feedback?


End file.
